


A Past Rainy Day

by Mystic_Ender



Series: Living in the Past [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Human AU, Mentions of Violence, anyway enjoy, but i made it so that it fits in like, if that makes sense, mentions of abuse, the first one shot in a way, this is basically the main guys backstories, welcome to: i make the characters suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:14:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25468366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystic_Ender/pseuds/Mystic_Ender
Summary: For a week Baby attacked Fazbear Newspaper Company in her News Hour show.Two days were dedicated to the lesser employees.But five days were dedicated to the main five's past.And, they would have preferred for the past remain where it was.
Series: Living in the Past [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843966
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11





	1. Day 1: Goldie

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Oh yeah, I probably won't continue the Human AU--  
> My Brain: But what if you did?
> 
> ...  
> So yeah here we are.  
> Please note that some of the backstories might have some mentions of violence and some others of abuse. Nothing major, I most likely won't go into details, but still, be careful.
> 
> Alright, now that it was said... Enjoy!

The day they had dug up Goldie’s criminal past, Freddy had been in his office looking over various important papers for the business. With Baby’s Local Radio on the other side of the street, it caused them to go through a slightly rougher patch than usual but no problem so far.

He hadn’t expected Goldie to come in as if the Devil was chasing him and to immediately go for the radio sitting in Freddy’s office.

“Goldie? Are you okay?” He asked carefully, frowning at the man who was desperately changing channels. He had rarely seen the man like this before and because of this fact, it worried him to no end. At the lack of answer, Freddy cleared his throat loudly.

Goldie didn’t even turn.

“--elcome to the News Hour!” A chirpy voice said on the other end. It sounded a little bit annoying, but it wasn’t enough for anyone to stop listening. “I am your host, Bon Bon!”

“...Why did you put this to the News Hour?” Freddy asked carefully. His eyes were staring at the back of Goldie’s skull, hoping that he would turn around and explain.

“I’m afraid that today we got an announcement to make, folks!” It continued soon after a little music played. “We have learned some harsh truths about one of the owners of Fazbear Newspaper Company, Marigold Cassidy!”

\---------------------

Marigold Cassidy didn’t have the luxury to say that he ended up in prison, with other criminals, because his childhood was a difficult one. In fact, it was easy. His parents loved him and always made sure he got as much attention as his siblings when they were home, he always had food in his stomach and heat in his house, and he hadn’t needed to give up his education so that one of his younger siblings could have access to it.

No, he had gotten everything a child could. So why was he stuck there? Why was he among the worst of the worst, when all he had done was sell something to the wrong sort? He could have backed out any time, but fear had taken his heart and squeezed it.

Before Goldie was in prison, before Goldie started the newspaper company with his best friend, he was a salesman. He had a briefcase filled with various wristwatches from the company he worked for, and he went door to door with a fake, shining smile to try and convince people to buy from him. It hadn’t been why he had gone to school for, but luck had run out every time he tried to become a writer in a company somewhere.

And, the day he was given the chance to do what he always wanted to do, well…

\---

“May I interest you with a watch, ma’am?” He asked when the woman opened the door, ignoring the tired look the woman had and the screaming children in the background. He flashed her his 30th smile of the day, and his cheeks were seriously becoming tired.

As the door slammed shut in his face, Goldie sighed and rubbed his eyes before turning on his heels and going down the steps. Today would be another day where he sold little to nothing. Sometimes, he was lucky enough to fall on a more elderly centered neighborhood that bought more from him, but it seems he was stuck in a younger section of the city.

The buildings weren’t in the best of conditions, the brick losing its colors and the windows looking as if they could fall out of their frame if you even tried opening or closing them. The streets weren’t much better, various holes covering it, showing that it wasn’t a part of the city that their government especially cared about. Still, it had been where today brought him, so he would finish this section.

The next house slammed the door in his face, the third one didn’t even open the door, and the fifth one looked at them without buying anything. The sky was darkening when he reached the end of the neighborhood. Hopefully, the last house bought something, if only so that his bosses don’t look at him as if he was a failure again. His colleagues were alright, though. They understood how hard this was most of the time. 

The last house seemed a bit bigger than the others and looked to be cared for more. Whoever lived there had enough money to pay for the house and to take care of it. Hopefully, it meant they would be willing to let a few bills loose and buy something from him. With a heavy sigh, he got up the steps and knocked on the door, waiting for someone to come open.

He tried not to look too startled when two intimidating men were waiting at the door. 

“May I interest you in some watches, sirs?” He asked, his smile looking more fake than the ones he used all day. The fear certainly did not help. He could feel himself sweating as they continued to stare at him, saying nothing. He scrambled for his briefcase and opened it, twisting it around, hoping to show the selections he had and see if it interested them at all. They hadn’t closed the door on him just yet.

When they still didn’t react, Marigold was seriously considering turning on his heels and leaving this house behind. These two were just staring, not even saying a word. Did they even blink? He couldn’t tell. His smile was starting to seriously hurt his cheeks to keep up.

When he was finally thinking that maybe running would be the best thing to do, a man appeared from behind the two. He was shorter than Marigold and the two boys in the doorway, but he looked rich enough to sue you for even breathing wrong. His hair was held back with gel and his suit didn’t even have a wrinkle in it.

“Come on boys, leave that poor man alone,” He said, patting the two goons on their arms. They moved back but still kept staring at him. Also… was that an Italian accent? Oh, joy. The man smiled at him and looked at the watches seriously, rubbing his perfectly shaved chin with his thumb and index finger. “These are good quality, boy?”

“The best!” Marigold hurried to say, slightly less scared. He was still really nervous, if only for the impression this man is leaving behind. The short, very clearly Italian man nodded and looked up.

“Come in, we will discuss price inside.” The man got in, and the goons moved out of the way before following him. Goldie was left in the entry, where he could see better the wallpaper and carpet. It looked incredibly expensive, and Goldie looked right out of place. He could turn and run, he supposed, but… with the money the guy has, it probably would be better to get in. With a sigh, the green-eyed man rubbed his shoes on the welcome mat and made his way towards the end of the hall and into the small kitchen, where the goons were standing behind the rich man, who was sitting at the table.

Goldie put the case on the expensive-looking wooden table and sat down in the chair that had been obviously pulled back for him. Sure enough, the man didn’t even wait and started discussing prices with him and whatever he needed to know about the watches. It certainly looked like he was ready to buy one or two. Needless to say, Goldie blinked a couple of times when he was told that the rich man would be buying all of them. He almost wanted to ask why, but, it would be considered unprofessional.

Money exchanged, Goldie was walked back to the door by the man in question. His briefcase felt weird, this empty. Today ended up being a good day, in a way, he supposed.

“What is your name, boy?” The man asked as the blond was making his way down the stairs with a pep in his step.

“Marigold, sir,” Goldie replied, looking back with a small smile. He supposed it was the least he could do, considering that man bought all of what he was supposed to sell. Marigold paused, biting his lip as he watched the door begin to close. “I’m supposed to get news ones next week, I will come back then.”

“Please do, boy.”

Looking back on it, Marigold should’ve kept his mouth shut and never came back. But, back then, where it smelled like money, Marigold would go to.

\---  
Marigold came back each week for a full month. He didn’t know what the rich man did with all the watches, but he decided not to question it. Goldie made more money in a month than he did in a year, sometimes and for once, he could afford to buy better suits and start saving up for a plan he had for a while. At this rate, if he continued being this lucky, he probably could start that plan by himself in less than a year.

Goldie was sitting on a bench in front of the house, writing away in a notebook he had brought along. He also had more time to write than he had before, seeing that the day he went to sell the watches, he often had the afternoon to himself after that. That afternoon, he took it to practice the skill he loved so much and had gone to school to study.

A car pulled up in front of the house, and Goldie snapped the notebook shut before putting it in a pocket in his vest where it would be kept safe. His pen was slid behind his ear, and he looked up as he heard the doors of the car snap shut. As usual, the two goons were there with the short man, who was looking at him curiously. Did he have something on his face? He passed a hand on his mouth and cheeks before following the man inside, as usual.

“You write, boy?” The short man asked, staring at Goldie from his side of the table. That was new. They talked, yes, but it was very often business-like unless for when Goldie was asked small, more personal questions that he answered quickly. Such as his age, or if he had a family.

“I do,” He replied slowly, looking at the rich man curiously. They remained silent, and the man barely looked at the new, shiny watches the company had provided that week. Which, was odd. Finally, after a minute of silence, he cleared his throat and asked, “Why?”

“I need a secretary, boy, and you seem like someone an old man like me could trust,” He began, putting his hands together on top of the table as if offering the best business deal someone could ask for in their lives. “You seem like a man who can keep a secret,”

“Are you offering me a job, sir?” He asked, perking up a bit. Once again, Goldie smelled money. He probably would be paid better here than he did in his current job, where his pay was so basic that if he wanted to pay for rent, he had to rely on the extra he was given from selling the watches.

“Smart boy,” The man’s grin seemed shark-like on his face, but after seeing it so many times, Goldie was no longer intimidated. He should have seen. He should have seen the red flags waving at him desperately. “Yes, that is exactly what I am doing. The pay would be much better, I am sure…”

“No need to convince me, sir. I’ll take it.” Goldie smiled widely and shook the hand that was stretched towards him. Just like this, he felt hope. Hope that the company he wanted to build wouldn’t be only a dream. With the pay, it would take a lesser amount of time to buy a building and get everything started. “When do I start?”  
“Richard and Xavier will come to get you tomorrow at eight AM and drive you back home at five PM.” He explained, walking Goldie back to the entrance. The blond looked back at the goons who were following them, and he assumed that they were the ones he was talking about. “I have hope for you, boy. Do not disappoint me, there will be… consequences.”

“I will do my best, sir,” Goldie replied, not noticing the dark look that had crossed the rich man’s face when he told him that there would be consequences for disappointment. When the door was about to close, he finally asked a question he had on his mind. “What is your name, sir?”

A pause.

“Georgio.”

\---

Goldie shouldn’t have even knocked on that door. Georgio and his goons had brought him only but trouble. They had made his life easier, for a little while, but it wasn’t worth discovering the kind of people they truly were. Working as his secretary wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t hard either. Though, the hardest thing to do had been keeping the secrets set upon him.

After all, learning that the man you work for is part of a mafia, it weighs on your mind. 

He had to keep track of the debts and when they were to be paid, he had to keep track of the members’ whereabouts, he had to keep track of the “meetings” his boss had. One thing he learned, less than a month in, is that the meetings Georgio went to often left blood on his pristine white gloves. Marigold wanted to run so bad, leave this behind, but he was now in too deep. If even thought of getting away, there were chances that he would be found dead in his apartment.

He couldn’t afford that.

Which is why it was almost a relief when the mafia was found out. 

The police had burst in Georgio’s second home, the one Goldie went to when he sold the watches, and in less than five minutes, bullets were flying. Goldie had to take refuge behind the flipped table, and he had to watch as one of the bigger goons, Xavier, was bleeding into the carpet. His eyes were blank. Life had left them.

And when everyone except him was dead, the police hauled him in their car and he was quickly sent to prison. He hadn’t even gotten a trial. Being the only man alive in that room, being just there made him a criminal in their eyes. He had gotten involved, and now he had to pay the price. Thankfully, he wasn’t set for a full time when they learned that he was only a background character dragged into this whole scheme, but Goldie was convinced that his dream of having a newspaper company and writing in it was done for. Nobody would buy from him, after all.

Prison hadn’t been as bad as he had imagined it, but he still had to fight. Fight the members that had lived through the police bursting into the hideout. Fight the ones that simply searched to pick on him because he wasn’t the toughest. The months went by slowly, and Goldie witnessed more violence in this place than he did when he was out in the city. Thankfully, he didn’t hear guns being used.

He would be happy to never hear guns again in his life.

In 1919, Goldie was finally allowed to leave the prison. The first thing he did when he left, he remembers clearly, was crying. His hands were covered in the various scars he had gained from fighting the prisoners over the years and he would have been happy to never have them.

The second thing he did, was scream in anger once he had reached his apartment. The whole thing had been torn apart, and whatever money he had saved in the place for his future company had been taken by whoever searched. Most likely the police. Some of his clothing had remained intact, but it was now too big on his body from the weight he had lost. The food hadn’t exactly been the healthiest to eat.

And finally, the third thing he did, was finding a new job. It took him nearly a year to find a place that didn’t care about his criminal record. A criminal record that Goldie hadn’t even wanted in the first place. The job wasn’t the best, being a canning company. The uniform he had to wear apparently had been an employee’s before him and the holes in the jumpsuit showed that fact. The pay was mediocre, he got sick every month and his employer could care less about the safety of who worked for him.

But one positive thing out of the whole thing had been the fact that he met Frederick there. Some would say that meeting your best friend and future business partner in a canning company would be sad, but if anything, it gave Goldie back the hope he had lost when he was brought in the cold kingdom of prison.

\---------------------

“Thank you for tuning in to the News Hour, folks! This was your host, Beck Cabot!” The woman finally finished, and with a dramatic little music, the show ended. Soon after, the normal people who took care of entertaining the listeners with popular music took over, hoping that people would stay for the next show in the next hour.

“Goldie, are you okay?” Freddy asked carefully, approaching the man and putting a hand on his shoulder. Freddy knew all that already, of course, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it must be rough to hear the worst things about yourself on the radio.

“I am.” That was a clear lie, but he couldn’t exactly talk about it when the phone started ringing wildly on Freddy’s desk. He made his way towards the door, hoping to escape the consequences of this radio show. He knew he couldn’t, but he only could hope.


	2. Day 2: Freddy

Freddy was alone in his office when the News Hour show started the next day. He had been looking over finances and chewing on his thumb’s nail and when he heard the music from yesterday play, he snapped his neck up and stared at the radio on the other side of the room. His fist clenched painfully, hoping that Goldie would be a one time case. Surely they wouldn't dedicate more shows to them?

“Welcome to the News Hour, I am Bon Bon, your host!” She presented herself, the same as yesterday. She sounded chipper once again, if only a bit tired. He was nervous at what he would hear next, and his fear proved right. “Today, we have learned something important about the second owner of Freddy Newspaper Company, Freddy Fazbear!”

\---------------------

Frederick Fazbear was born on April 23rd of 1888, to a woman named Mary Fazbear. This woman was a servant in his father’s mansion, and once Freddy was born, she was quickly shoved away from the halls of the home and into a small room where she was buried knee-deep in dirty children’s clothing. Not her son’s, of course. 

Because after all, Freddy’s father never dared to pay attention to the proof that he had cheated on his wife.

Most of Freddy’s childhood memories were set in that small room, where the smell of soap filled the air and was strong enough to give you a headache ten minutes in. Though, he couldn’t for the life of him, tell if something happened on the same day of something else. Most of the memories fused together for a while, seeing he rarely saw beyond these walls. The only time he did was when his mother passed her son over to another servant, who didn’t work that day. 

“Be good, my little darling,” She would say, before moving his mop of brown hair away from his forehead and kissing it. “Mommy will see you tonight.”

On these days, Freddy would sit on the uncomfortable bed of the servant in question’s room and look outside. He would notice small children that had the same eyes as him chasing each other with sticks. He wondered why he couldn’t play with them. He had asked his mother once, only to be told that it wasn’t safe for him.

These children always looked much happier than he was, much healthier than he was when he thinks back on it. Now, he knows the reason why, but his little child self simply couldn’t help but wonder. Why did they seem to own so much when his most prized possession was cheap colored pencils he had received at Christmas that year from all the servants? 

By the time he was ten years old, his gaze on these children changed from innocent wonder to bitter jealousy. He was just like them, wasn’t he? He shared the same father as they did, so why couldn’t he have what they did? Was he really this unworthy of a father’s love? He clenched his fist on the pen he was holding and watched the little girl and boy laugh as they threw a ball at each other.

That night, he had stayed up especially late even with the threat of school in the morning and drew something by the candlelight. It showed him, holding hands with two figures. One was clearly his mother, and the other showed the figure of a man he saw sometimes outside. He never saw his face, so it had been scribbled with a little black pencil. When he showed it to his mother the next morning, her eyes had grown sad, but she still smiled and kissed his forehead. 

“This looks wonderful, darling,” She would whisper, her voice weaker than it had been the year before. Not that Freddy had noticed, anyway. She would then fold the drawing and put it in the pocket of her apron, where various of his other drawings rested. “Go get dressed, darling. You’ve got to walk to school this morning.”

He would then walk to school, all alone, holding onto his small bag. It was always so close to breaking, but Freddy didn’t care. It was one of his rare possessions, with the second-hand uniform he had on his back. The clothing he had was often second-hand, too, but the uniform was special. His mother had saved a lot for it, and he made sure to take care of it.

By the time he was sixteen, he had needed to drop out of school to take up his mother’s work when she too sick to get up in the morning. His father didn’t even notice. It’s not like he paid attention to them anyway. So when Mary was stuck in bed, coughing her lungs out and her legs not strong enough to bring her to the room where she worked, Freddy would put on the frayed apron and go ruin his hands on the board used to wash the clothing.

By the time he was seventeen, his mother had passed away during the night, the sickness had got to her. They never knew what she had, in the end, her employer not even bothering to call a doctor to check up on her. Barely a day after, she had been buried under the tree in the yard, with nothing to indicate that it was her final resting place. Less than a week after, even with the servants fighting for him to stay, he had been kicked out of the mansion with a small bag holding the only things he owned. After all, if his mother wasn’t there anymore, what was his reason to stay? He hadn’t been hired to work here.

The servants, the only family he had known, had given him sandwiches before he left. ‘For the road,’ the oldest had said, pinching his cheek. After all, he hadn’t even been graced with the chance of having a ride to the nearest town or city. He would need to walk all the way there and he hoped that his cheap shoes wouldn't be ruined too soon into the trip.

It took him three days to get to the nearest city, which turned out to be New York. Having no contacts whatsoever in the city, he had needed to stay in a shelter that night. He remembers sleeping on a thin mattress holding his bag close to his chest, waking up at every creak of the floorboard. Even with his mother six feet deep into the ground, he hadn't felt this lonely. The other servants had been his family, but now that they weren't there, the bitter cold of loneliness took hold of his heart with an iron grip.

It had taken him a month to even find a proper job, people turning him back from where he came the moment they saw the color of his skin. If he was lucky, they wouldn't bother taking a weapon out, and after a while, the occasional insult didn't sting as much as it did the first time. Thankfully, things changed when he noticed an ad in the paper, asking for a receptionist in a local newspaper company. When he got there for the interview, the place didn't look to be in the best shape, but at that point, he hadn't care. He needed a job. He hadn’t known it at the time, but it would be what would change his life.

\---

“Sit down, son,” The man on the other side of the table said, motioning for the cheap wooden chair in front of him. The walls of the office looked much better than the ones in the rest of the building, probably from the fact that this man was the boss of the place. He waited for Freddy to sit down before continuing. “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-two, sir,” He replied, clasping his hands together to try and hide the obvious shaking. He had never been called to the boss’s office before, and he wasn’t getting a good feeling from the situation.

“And how old were you when you started working here?” He continued, lighting up the cigar hanging from his mouth and taking a deep inhale from it before exhaling. 

“Seventeen.” The copper-skinned man replied, waving the smoke away from his face with a small cough. He watched the boss stare at him, grunting in thought.

“So you’ve been working here for five or six years, give or take…” He mumbled, still staring. Either he didn’t notice, or he didn’t care. Could be a mix of both, really. “What do you see yourself doing in the future, son? You can’t plan to work as a receptionist your whole life?”

“No, sir,” Freddy replied, perking up a bit on the uncomfortable chair. His eyes were shining with hope, and a smile was gracing his lips. His dream, and hopefully future, had been sitting on his mind for almost a year now. “I was hoping to start my own newspaper company.”

His boss laughed loudly, his cigar resting his left hand and his right one slapping the surface of the desk as if he thought Freddy was joking. The copper-skinned man laughed nervously but quickly stopped when his boss stopped too, staring at him with laughter still in his eyes. Though, it changed when he noticed Freddy wasn’t joking.

“You’re not joking.” He said, disbelief obvious in his tone.

“I am serious, sir.” Freddy replied, his voice getting a bit louder. He was bracing himself to be told to get out, to be told he was fired. Because, surely, he would be fired for this. Nobody in their right mind would keep a possible future competitor here.

“Alright,” His boss said, putting his cigar back in his mouth. “You’re promoted to be my personal assistant. Gonna teach you the secrets of the trade, son.”

“Y-You are serious, sir?” Freddy asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. His position relaxed and a huge smile took place on his face. He shot up from the chair and went to take his boss’s right hand, shaking it violently in his happiness. “Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah,” The man muttered, wrenching his hand away. He waved it around his face as if to move the smoke away from his eyes. “You’re starting tomorrow at the same hour as usual, but you get here instead of your desk. Now get out of my office.”

\---

For eleven years, Freddy was his boss’s assistant. He barely knew anything about the man, other than the fact that he lost two of his children when they were young and his wife left him. The only reason Freddy knew this was because had found a picture of them hidden in the desk and has asked old Henry about it. He had quickly, and harshly, been told to never ask about it again.

Truly, they had been some of the happier years of his life, but everything comes to an end in one way or another. Freddy knew old Henry wasn’t the happiest of men, the type to lose his mind in work if it meant he could avoid going back to an empty home for an hour longer. While he never touched alcohol, saying it had been his wife’s problem, he had no problem smoking more cigars than was probably necessary.

The man died in his sleep in 1921, leaving this company to nobody and thus putting it into the ground. 

Grieving Henry was hard, he supposed, but what was harder was his hope lessening as he watched his savings for his future company dip down more and more as he struggled to find a job again. He felt seventeen again, going door to door asking for a job, only for the door to be slammed in his face. The only difference from back then was that he was older. The reasons were the same, with an extra of problems from the war.

Three months later, when Freddy thought his luck had run out, he finally got hired in a canning factory. The pay was mediocre when compared to what he made before as his boss’s assistant, but at the point he was at, he would take anything if it meant having groceries in his fridge, heating warming his bones on cold nights, and his savings going up again. He nearly had been at the bottom of the jar when he found the job.

\---

“So, you’re the newbie?” A voice said from behind him, and it caused Freddy to jump slightly in surprise as he turned around. The man’s hair was tied in a side ponytail that went over his shoulder, and his emerald green eyes looked almost dead from tiredness. His cheekbones were sticking out a bit, showing how little he probably ate. “Come on, I’m supposed to show you around.”

“Yes, that is me,” He confirmed, and quickly started to follow the man that simply turned on his heel and walked away. Freddy looked around the place as the blond man talked, explaining the stations. The machinery was almost deafening and the rare employees that looked awake were ridiculously young. They must not have been there for long, he assumed. Freddy winced at the loud shrill sound of a bell that echoed around the room. People then started moving around, and some stayed where they were.

“You’ll get used to it,” His guide said after taking a look at Freddy’s face. The man had barely winced himself but he did look to have been a little startled. It was a real wakeup call, he supposed. They then stopped in front of a station surrounded by boxes. “So, that’s your station. I suppose they explained what you had to do?”

They hadn’t.

“Yeah, sounds like them,” He sighed after a second and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I can’t stay here long, they’ll dock my pay if I’m not at my station soon. Just pack the cans that are given to you and… good luck.”

“Thank you,” Freddy replied, moving some of the boxes from his way to get closer to his actual station. It was blocked by a ridiculous amount of boxes and he seriously wondered if he would use all of these that day. Which, was likely, but it looked like a lot. “What is your name?”

The man froze up for a second, still on his way to his station. 

“Marigold. Call me Goldie.”

\---------------------

Freddy snapped out of his memories when the music announcing the end of the show started playing. His hands were clutched together and shaking, the train of memories being painful. When was the last time he had thought about his mother? When was the last time he thought about Henry? It felt like he had forgotten them, the two people who helped him get to where he was now. Goldie, too, but he was still in his life.

The phone then started ringing on his desk, and Freddy sighed. He supposed that playing the son born out of the marriage card was a smart one if you wanted to get the religious people angry. He picked up the phone, and after his hello, he held it away from his ear. The person screaming on the other end was loud enough that he didn’t need to hold it close to his ear.

He wondered, at that moment, if Goldie still had that bottle of whiskey in his office. But, he quickly shoved the thought out of his head.

He wouldn’t fall into a bad habit as Henry had.


	3. Day Three: Foxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are Mentions of Abuse and Violence in this chapter!

Foxy had been in Bonnie’s office, annoying the hell out of his roommate when the show came on. At hearing the music, he changed his position on the couch from laying down to sit up with his back straight. They hadn’t heard yesterday’s show, but from what they heard from Freddy, they had gone after the fact his mother wasn’t married when he was born. Which, is a good way to anger the religious people of the city and because of that fact, they had lost a lot of subscriptions in one night.

“Turn it up,” The freckled man said, straining his ear to hear the radio from Bonnie’s desk. It was always at the lowest, mainly to provide a background sound as he worked. This was something Foxy didn’t understand, but at the same time, his own background sound was the city moving around him as he delivered papers.

“You’re sure?” The tanned man asked, his hand hovering over the little wheel used to turn the sound up. At Foxy’s nod, he just sighed and turned it up and they were quickly blasted with Beck’s usual greeting.

“Today, we ladies and gentlemen, we learn some terrible news about the head delivery boy of Fazbear Newspaper Company,” Beck announced, sounding even more tired than she did the day before. “Finn Hawthorne.”

Foxy almost wished he hadn’t asked for it to be turned up.

\---------------------

The rain was pouring hard over their heads, the droplets hitting hard against the umbrella over their heads. The weather matched the mood of the event, he supposed. The wind was howling through the trees and Foxy little brother’s hand squeezed his as the crocodile tears of their mother flowed down her cheeks. The dark casket was being lowered into the ground, and once it would be buried, their father would be gone for good. Because, really, Foxy didn’t want to admit that his father was gone.

After all, his father had been the last wall between him and his mother’s anger.

Finn was a lucky little boy, some would say. He lived comfortably in a mansion in the countryside, he never had to be afraid to not have anything to eat or not be warm in the winter. But, he never saw himself as lucky. His mother was always distant, having married for the money of his father only. She had two children, but they were only there so that she could use them as a reason to get what she wants. Finn’s father was the only person that showed him true parental love, but even then, he was rarely at home.

While Finn felt lonely every time his father wasn’t at home when he was younger, he made sure that his little brother never felt that way. He played with him in the afternoons, when he wouldn’t have school. He would tell him bedtime stories when storms screamed outside of their windows so that his little brother would fall asleep despite the fear. He acted as a shield between him and their mother when she had drunk a lot that night in the later years. 

But now that the only man that truly loved them was gone, he was terrified that even if he acted as a shield for his little brother, it wouldn’t be enough. After all, now that the presence that acted as their guardian angel was gone, his mother didn’t have to worry about divorce. She was free, she had all the money she wanted and she didn’t have to worry about her children anymore.

The first night, his mother was still too happy to touch the bottle. He still razed the walls when she walked near him, terrified that she would grab him by the arm and dig her carefully manicured nails into his arm hard enough to draw blood. His little brother had remained into his room all day, playing with the wooden cars he had been gifted that Christmas. He was still too young to fully realize their father was gone.

The second night, a party had been organized. Nobody really dared point out how early it was to organize such things, only assuming that it was the poor woman’s way to go through the grieving process. Alcohol was passed around, and all the kids and teens who were too young to participate in such activities were restrained to the second, smaller ballroom. Music was played and toys were there for the youngest, but nobody really mingled.

Finn remembers keeping an eye on his little brother as he ran around with the other five years olds, but he also remembers eyeing that one pretty boy on the other side of the ballroom all night. Combed brown hair, eyes the same color as chocolate. He remembers almost startling at hearing the boy laugh with two giggling teen girls on the other side of the ballroom. He still shook himself out of it and forced himself to not look over. Surely having such an interest in another boy was unnatural.

He regretted not talking to the boy when he left with his family the next day.

The third night, he was woken up by little hands shaking him as a storm raged on outside of their windows.

“Finn, Finn!” A little voice said thickly through tears. The youngest rubbed his own tears away from his face with his hand once he saw his brother move in his bed. “Finn, please wake up!”

“What’s’it?” The red-head mumbled, lifting his head from the pillow to look at his crying little brother. He didn’t worry too much about the tears, simply assuming they were from waking up to an especially big crash of thunder. “D’you need a bedtime story?”

“Mother slapped me!” He screeched, completely ignoring the question. A new wave of fresh tears ran down his little brother’s rosy cheeks. Sure enough, a handprint could be seen, especially red against the pale of his skin.

Foxy sat up, the tiredness was gone from his bones. The revelation had been like a cold shower over his head. Half of his hair was flat against his head and the other was sticking out, but he didn’t really care right now. He hadn’t been there to protect his little brother. He hadn’t been there.

“Did she hurt you anywhere else, Marcus?” He asked worriedly, panic in his voice. He put his hands under his brother’s arms and lift him up on his bed, before turning the lamp on. One hand was on his brother’s hair, petting it comfortingly as the other passed a finger over the red sting of the handprint. “Marcus, please.”

“She grabbed my arm, too,” He sniffled, the tears already calming down from being comforted by his brother. Sure enough, faint traces of blood were on his little forearm. It wasn’t enough to roll down the wound, but it showed that the skin had been pierced. Knowing that his mother’s nails were often painted, he opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out what was needed to clean it. 

“What were you doing up?” He asked quietly, carefully cleaning the tiny wounds. Finn’s hands were shaking, but he tried his best to keep his voice as calm as possible. He needed to look strong for his little brother. After doing this, he pulled his brother close to his chest, hugging him tightly.

“I didn’t want to bother you with a bedtime story,” He replied, rubbing his cheeks against the comfortable fabric that was Finn’s pajama shirt. His tears were over for now, and they were already starting to dry against his cheeks. “So I went to Mother. Her light was on.”

“Come see me in the future, okay?” He whispered, kissing his little brother on the forehead. He hated that he hadn’t been there. He could have taken the hit instead of him. “You can always wake me up.”

“...Can I stay here tonight?” Marcus asked slowly, looking up to his brother with hope in his little hazel eyes. Finn didn’t have the heart to tell him, no, so he just scooted and patted the free space next to him. It’s not like he didn’t have space, and his brother deserved to be comforted after this.

\---

For the next year, he always made sure that he was with his brother every time he had free time. He took him everywhere, and he made sure to ignore his mother’s look of disappointment when she noticed Marcus wasn’t alone. That look alone was the reason he stayed with his brother even more than before. Marcus never complained, and every time their mother was in the room, he looked at her with fear on his face.

By the time Foxy was seventeen, he had various scars of nails on his forearms. While his brother always cried and apologized every time he saw them, Finn tried his best not to look bothered by it around Marcus, smiling and saying it was worth it if it meant keeping his brother safe from harm. He always did his best to hide the moments where he would cry at seeing the scars on his freckled skin. 

Of course, that changed when Marcus walked in on his brother desperately trying to clean the wound that ran across his right eye. Nail marks were obvious there and it showed how deep they were from the blood. Tears were running down Finn’s face as he pressed a cold cloth to it. He hadn’t noticed the door of the bathroom opening.

“Finn?” 

Foxy turned around, his one injured eye-widening in horror. He tried to wipe the tears away and turned, hoping to shield his brother from the sight. No matter he was aware that Marcus had seen it. He just wanted to hide the reality from his for a little longer. The ten years old took the oldest’s hand and tugged on it so that his brother turned around. Both were still crying, and one of them wished he wasn’t. He had sworn to himself he would be strong.

“What happened?” Marcus asked through the tears, sadness gripping at his little heart. His brother was hurt, hurt enough that it would probably cause him to barely see from that eye. If he was lucky, he would recover. But luck hadn’t been on his side for a long time. 

“...She found the drawings I have of Jacob,” Finn replied, turning away to continue cleaning his wound. The flow of blood wasn’t calming down. With a small swear, he grabbed the bandages and covered what looked like almost half his head in bandages. Red was already seeping through, but it would have to do for now.

“That boy you like?” Marcus asked innocently. He never saw any problems with that, but Finn knew that it was simply because he hadn’t been exposed to their mother screaming her head out about how horrible people who liked the same gender were. He supposed he was thankful his little brother didn’t see any problem with it.

“...Yeah, that boy I like.” Loved was more like it. Jacob was getting married to a good woman named Fanny, now. He needed to move on, which was why his drawings had been out and his mother saw them.

Marcus only nodded and took his older brother’s hand and tugged it to try and drag him towards his bed. Just for tonight, Finn told himself, would he allow himself to be comforted by his little brother.

\---

The next morning, their mother had acted as if nothing was wrong. She simply ignored Finn, who was still sporting a huge amount of bandages, and barely looked at Marcus. Normally, the redhead would be happy about this fact, but the only thing it did was raise red flags around his head. His little brother, though, saw almost nothing wrong with it and was simply happy his big brother wasn’t getting attacked anymore.

The next year had been a weird one. Finn turned eighteen with barely any new wounds, and Marcus was a happy eleven years old. He smiled more than he cried, which was a win in Finn’s book, even though it was definitely an odd win. Marcus had fun drawing on his brother’s eyepatch, often putting tiny skulls. When he did, Foxy always took a pirate accent and took his little brother on pirate adventures in the bath in their common bathroom.

But of course, things couldn’t remain happy forever. One morning, one relatively innocent morning, an announcement had been made at the table.

Finn had been set up to marry a woman by the name of Annie. The look of horror that dawned on his face hadn’t gone unnoticed by his mother, and the woman looked almost smug as she ate her eggs that morning. Marcus had also looked horrified, but simply because for him, it meant that he would lose his brother. He couldn’t lose his brother.

And so, on November 10th, 1919, Finn ran away from his home with his brother. They had left with barely anything, just enough money between them both to afford two meals and a spare shirt and pants. Grey clouds covered the sky as they walked down familiar roads on their way to New York, where hopefully Finn would find a job.

They had slept in an alley that night, every shelter they had found filled with people. Marcus was hugging Finn tightly as rain poured down on their shelter made of newspaper and wooden boxes left to rot. The cold was seeping into their bones, the only warmth they really got being their bags pressed against them and the other’s body. They didn’t mind too much, though, because for once the fear was different. Instead of fearing their mother’s anger, they feared when their next meal would be.

Each morning, Finn would leave their shelter and go search for jobs. Many denied him, saying that the lack of proof of his education was the problem. Some would say that with the war, they simply could not afford another employee. Each night, he would come back to the shelter, where Marcus would wait with the money he begged for that day, and whatever food he would have found. Sometimes they could sleep in shelters, but most of the time they had to stay in their alley.  
It took two years of living like this before the worst happened. 

Marcus got sick. 

Foxy didn’t even bother looking for jobs, during those days. The sky seemed constantly covered in grey, though a drop never fell. It looked like an omen, an omen of the worst that could possibly happen. The redhead always hugged his brother as close as he could and tried not to cry at every rough cough that left the youngest’s lips.

“Hey, Finn?” Marcus said, on the day his sickness was especially bad. His hazel eyes looked dull and his eyelids were closing by themselves. “Remember the tales of Foxy the Pirate?”

“‘Course I do,” Finn said, trying to keep his tone lively even though the only thing he wanted to do was break down and cry. He still did his best to take the accent with the knot in his throat. “Bravest pirate o’ the seven seas, he was, lad!”

“Think he’ll be there waiting for me?”

“W-what do you mean, Marcus?” Foxy asked, shaking his brother. Marcus’s eyes were closed, and a small smile was at his lips. He looked like he was seeing what he always wanted. Panic was rising in his gut, and tears stung at his eyes.

“Waiting for one last adventure, of course…” He finally said, his words fading away in the wind, like a whisper that was never there. His body was colder than it was before, and even with Finn’s desperate shaking and pleading, Marcus wouldn’t wake up.

He never would.

\---------------------

“-oxy? Hey, Foxy!” A voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he registered the hands that were holding him and shaking him. The hands were obviously stronger than his mother’s ever were, but at that moment, he could feel the nails digging into his flesh. With a screech, Foxy pushed Bonnie away and scooted away from him on the couch, holding his legs close to his chest as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Don’t touch me!” He screamed, rubbing his hands on his forearms and biceps desperately trying to rub the touch away. His pirate speech was completely gone in that moment, his normal voice and accent taking over from the fear he felt deep in his bones. He still hadn’t registered that it was Bonnie on the other end and not his mother in her pink dresses. His mind didn’t register that his mother never called him Foxy. All he could see at that moment was her cruel smile, all he could feel was the heavy cold from when his brother had died in his arms.

“Foxy, come on! It’s Bonnie!” The voice left his mother’s mouth, and slowly he noted that her blonde hair was fading to a brown, and her freckled skin changed for the normal perfect tan that was Bonnie’s. Her hazel eyes changed for the startling purple he knew well. And soon after, what remained of her faded away and Bonnie’s worried look was staring back at him.

“Bonnie?” He whispered, still rubbing his arms. He was still terrified, and the voice he normally had still hadn’t come back. “I’m so sorry,”

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” He reassured. He didn’t make a move to come closer to the red-head, mainly scared of what his reaction would be. “I turned the radio off. Do you need anything?”

“...Something warm,” He said, the cold of the night his brother died still in his bones and freaking him out. Foxy’s hazel eyes were wide in fear still. He didn’t even flinch when Bonnie dropped his suit’s vest over his shoulder, only clinging to it and desperately taking the warmth in.

They remained silent after that. Bonnie knew Foxy would talk about it if he needed it.


	4. Day Four: Chica

"You know, darlin’, you could just throw ‘em all away,” The blonde woman said, opening yet another letter. When she unfolded the paper, a small picture fell out of it, showing a younger Foxy. The person seems to have cut it out of a newspaper and then doodled a line with a red marker around his neck. “Oh, this one even provided art!”

“Heh, still waitin’ for a letter about the marriage,” He said, opening another letter. This one wasn’t as gruesome as some of the others and could almost appear fancy if it wasn’t sent in the context it had. Foxy rubbed his eye as he threw the letter into the trash can next to them. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, and he had more layers of clothing than Chica ever remembers seeing him being in. “An’ this one just called me a rainbow lover, which ‘s accurate if you think ‘bout it.”

“Surely that girl ain’t waitin’ still?” Chica asked, opening yet another letter. That one just had a noose drawn on it and the woman just sighed when she threw it away. But that tired look quickly changed for an amused smile. “Rainbow lover, uh? Darlin’ you should’ve told me! I’ll point ‘em out to you on our delivery runs in the future!”

“Don’t do that,” He snapped, an annoyed look on his face that made Chica snicker. He then waved the letter around her face, making her swat it away and look up from the one she was opening. “Ya obviously haven’t been around rich people. Put money under their noses and they turn into rabid dogs.”

After Foxy said that, the familiar little tune of the News Hour show started playing into the Delivery Room. Foxy tensed up a bit, and Chica was about to get up to turn it off when a hand covered in thick clothing was put onto her arm.

“‘s fine. I want to see who they go after this time.” He said. The accent slowly faded away into nothing towards the end, and he took his hand back quickly after touching her. Even with the clothing stopping the skin-to-skin contact, he still was uncomfortable with touch. He just hoped it would calm down as it did before. His hate for touch hadn’t been this bad in years.

“if you’re sure, darlin’,” She said slowly, before sitting back down in her chair. They listened to the intro tiredly, and they noticed how forced the cheery voice was today. Were things bad too on their end? No matter.

“Today, we learn about Catherine Field!” The voice chirped in its fake happiness.

\---------------------

Catherine still remembers the farm she had grown on. She remembers the bright red stables, she remembers the wheat fields that looked endless in her little six years old eyes. She never did much around the farm when she was that age, being too young to handle the bigger things. Though she does remember helping feed the chickens with her twin brother. While she did things how it was asked, her brother’s fun was to do it as chaotic as possible. Which often ended up with the two of them being grounded.

She remembers their mother sneaking pie in their room despite being grounded from a dessert that night. Two big slices, with a big scoop of homemade whip cream on top of it. If they were lucky, she would even put a candy or two on the plate. Chica loved it when her mother did that.

“Now, now, Cupcake,” Her mother would say when she spotted Chica’s twin try to sneak the candy off her plate. She sounded slightly amused, but still narrowed her eyes a bit so that the boy would put the candy back. “Leave your sister’s candy alone.”

“Yeah, Cupcake,” Catherine would say, before taking a bit of the whipped cream off his brother’s plate and putting it into her mouth. It would often start a small fight between the two of them, much to her mother’s amusement. They were good memories.

Then, when she turned sixteen, her older sister took her to the stables. In ten years, it had never been repainted yet. The paint was decaying on it, but it was still in a relatively good state. She remembers wondering why she would be taken there, only for her sister to give her one of the saddles and guiding her to one of the less stubborn horses. Her name was Pinky, and Chica loved her to bits. 

She learned to ride from her older sister, and she would be forever grateful to her for it. It had been her escape from the world when they lost their mother to an accident when she was eighteen, and it had been her escape from the world when they started having trouble taking care of the farm without the extra pair of hands.

Of course, she should have known that they wouldn’t keep the farm forever.

\---

“Catherine, Fairy escaped again!” Carrie yelled at her from her side of the field, pointing at around where the old stables were still standing. Sure enough, Fairy, one of the most stubborn horses of the bunch, was walking out of the stables without anyone guiding her. Fairy had a tendency of trying to escape during the day, though only on the days where she would probably need to work. 

“I’ll go get her!” She yelled back at her older sister, before putting the tools on the ground. She turned towards her twin brother, who was still fighting with the bags of fertilizer. “George, you think you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, don’t about me, everything is definitely just fine!” He answered, his voice showing how annoyed he was at his job. Taking care of the fertilizer was one of the things he hated the most, and it was his turn to do that task, making him more irritated than usual.

“Well, if you say so,” She replied, ignoring the tone he had taken. She started jogging towards where Fairy was heading, which was the beaten dirt of the road. They were fairly far from the city, making everything peaceful. No cars were passing by, and the only sound they heard was the various animals and the sounds nature made.

Fairy almost looked irritated when she got stopped by Catherine, who looked amused at catching her before she could escape. Guiding the mare back to the stables, the blonde woman was definitely surprised at hearing the loud sound of a car making its way down the road. She stopped and watched as a sleek black car stopped in front of their home, and two men in fancy suits were greeted by their father. Catherine bit her lip, wanting to stay and go eavesdrop, but quickly decided against it. If it was important, they would know about it.

She should have eavesdropped, she decided when she was greeted by the somber look of her older sister when she exited the stables. 

“Did somethin’ happen?” She asked, nervously. Her sister’s yellow cotton dress was stained by dirt and had some tears at the bottom of it from getting stuck on various branches and such. She still loved the thing to bits, though, and refused to buy a new one.

“You’re gonna want to see this,” She replied, taking her sister by the arm and guiding her towards the front of the house, where her brother was already waiting and staring at something that had been dug into the ground.

It was a ‘sold’ sign.

“...What?” Catherine said softly, disbelief laced into her tone. She chuckled nervously and looked at her siblings, her eyes betraying how she hoped that it was simply a bad joke pulled by them. It wouldn’t have surprised her if it was something George had planned out of revenge for being given the fertilizer task. “You’re jokin’, right?”

“Dad sold the farm, Cat,” George said quietly, anger filling his tone slowly and his fist tightening dangerously. “The farm we’ve been living on for twenty years, sold. Mom’s grave? Left behind.”

“We’re not the only ones, too,” Carrie continued. Her tone was angry, yes, but it was mostly filled with sadness. She had lived here for a longer time, after all. While Catherine and George had lived here for twenty years, Carrie had known the place for thirty. She had been there when the stables were built. “The Jones sold theirs.”

“No way,” She said in disbelief. The Jones was where they got most of their corn and milk, on top of apples in the autumn. They had less trouble taking care of their farm, so it was a surprise that they sold their property too. “Where are they going?”

“New York City, Dad said,” George replied, still very much angry about the decision taken. He looked a lot like their mother, at that moment. While George had gotten their mother’s strawberry blonde hair, Carrie and Catherine had gotten their father’s looks. It was startling to see so much of their mother in his looks at that moment. “We’re going there, too.”

\---

New York City was loud.

It was the first thing she noticed, on top of how cramped it was. People walked down the streets in their bright clothing, untouched by the dirt and unused from hours working in the fields. Cars rolled down the streets, spots of water splashed when they were disturbed. Bright lights flashed, smoke filled the air near the factories. It was a far cry from the countryside.

The building their apartment was in was quieter, but still just as loud. The walls were thin, and you could hear the shrill screaming of children, you could hear the neighbors fighting above you. The Jones moved in right next to them, though, so in this unknown environment, it was a reassurance. 

The apartment in question was incredibly small, she noted. Their father had a small room all to himself, and so did Carrie, but George and Catherine had to share a mattress in the living room, next to the couch. She hadn’t shared a bed with her brother in years, so it would definitely be a weird thing to experience after ten years. The kitchen and living room were in the same room, making everything feel extremely cramped. The wallpaper was in a good state though, so it gave a touch of color in this environment that that felt extremely… beige.

Catherine would wake up at 5 AM to hear her father make breakfast, his shift at the local factory starting at a ridiculous hour. He was the only one that hadn’t been able to find better, from his lack of education. He didn’t seem to mind too much, but he did look extremely tired. They were used to wake up early, yes, but there was a difference between six in the morning and five. Carrie hadn’t gotten lucky enough to find a job just yet, but she remembers expressing her interest in the spots that opened at the local phone company. George, in his case, had found a cashier’s job at a fabric store.

And Catherine… Catherine hadn’t found anything yet. Though she could probably offer to babysit the Jones’ youngest.

\---

“Miss Jones?” She called from the other side of the door after knocking. She could hear what was happening on the other side of the door, and it sounded like people were scrambling to do something, though she didn’t know what. She raised her fist and knocked again, deciding to announce who she was. “Miss Jones, it’s Catherine! I was thinking I could babysit your youngest today?”

Silence on the other side of the door, before the door, unlocked and flung open, showing the familiar woman. Miss Jones was always scarily thin and tall, though she never showed that it was unhealthy to her in any way. Catherine remembers the Christmas they had spent at their farm, and she remembers Miss Jones eating nearly three plates of food all by herself. Though the woman had been pregnant at the time, so who knows. The woman’s dirty blond hair was a mess around her head, and she looked relieved at the offer.

“You wouldn’t mind?” She said, before moving to the side when Catherine shook her head no. The inside of the Jones’ apartment was fairly similar to their own, the only difference being that there were actual walls between the kitchen and the living room. The wallpaper was a dusty pink and was stained in some places, though it didn’t look to be much of a problem. “Bless your little heart, darling.”

“It’s no problem at all. Where’s little Anthony?” She called, waiting for the patter of tiny feet to run towards her. Sure enough, the three years old’s feet could be heard against the creaking wood of the floor, and her legs got trapped into a hug from the small boy. The blonde woman dropped down and lifted the boy in her arms, not too bothered by the shy boy’s hands playing with her shoulder-length hair. She then turned towards Miss Jones, who was seen putting her shoes on. “Anythin’ I should know?”

“I should be back by three in the afternoon,” The woman said, trying to pat down the curly mess that was her hair in front of the mirror propped on the wall near the door. She then turned towards Catherine and went to kiss her son’s forehead. “My husband is in the office, don’t bother him..”

“You guys have an office?” She asked in surprise. They didn’t even have one, and the layout of this apartment was fairly similar to their own. The rent must be higher if they have an extra room. Miss Jones just laughed and left the apartment, leaving her to take care of Anthony. The three years old quickly asked to be put down, and took her hand to drag her to his room.

Anthony’s room was still filled with things needed to be unpacked, though most of the things had already been taken care of. The little bed’s covers were perfectly made, and on top of it laid various wooden toys. There was a little duck with wheels on it, a string tied to it, and one of the biggest toys was a phone. Anthony had been the type to play with the Jones’ phone back on their farm, so Anthony’s father decided to carve one out of wood for him to play with freely.

The morning passed by slowly, with Anthony showing her most of his toys and her exclaiming every time she was shown one as if it was the best treasure in the whole world. They had also played hide and seek for a little while, but Anthony quickly got upset when she kept finding him. It was simple really, he kept hiding in the same spot. She did try to drag it on as long as possible though.

And then lunch came, and the door to what Catherine assumed was the office opened. She took Anthony into her arms and left his bedroom. Sure enough, Mister Jones, a rather tall man who was built like a brick house and always looked like he could lift her easily and throw her like a sack of potatoes if she didn’t behave, was in the kitchen preparing what looked like lunch for Anthony. Though, as she got closer, she noticed something.

One, there wasn’t a door to the office. It was a bathroom.

Second, the man smelled like alcohol.

Nervousness seeped into her bones, and after putting Anthony into the carved wooden high chair, she cleared her throat. She waited until Mister Jones was looking towards her before asking her question.

“There’s no problem with me using the bathroom?” She asked, nervousness still deep into her bones. She analyzed the man like a hawk, trying to notice if there were signs of him being drunk at all. There wasn’t, but the smell was still there.

“Oh, not at all.” The man replied, before going back to taking care of his son. She spun on her heels and fast-walked towards the bathroom, where she closed the door locked it shut behind her. After taking a deep breath, she searched through everything that could hide something, even going as far as emptying the trash. 

Under the sink was where she found something.

Hidden behind a metal bucket were a couple of glass bottles, a blank paper stuck on them. She opened them and sniffed, and sure enough, the strong smell of alcohol greeted her. If Mister Jones didn’t drink, there were no signs that he was drunk, then….

She closed the bottles with shaking hands, put them back, and flushed the toilet for good measure before leaving the bathroom, where she hit Mister Jones’ chest face first. She rubbed her nose and looked up at him, who was staring down at her with a blank expression.

“I could hear you, you know,” He whispered, turning to look at his son, who was eating with no problem at all. His eyes softened a bit, and he took a breath before looking back at Catherine. The poor girl looked alarmed, scared, and angry at the same time. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“You’re makin’ Moonshine and you don’t want me to tell anyone?” She hissed out softly, crossing her arms. This was illegal. If the police even knew she was involved in such a case… She would end up in prison and put her family in deep trouble. “Give me one good reason, Mister Jones.”

“It pays the bills.” He replied, and sure enough, Catherine’s angry look calmed down a bit. “I’ll give you a part of the money if you keep it quiet.”

“...I’ll help you.”

\---

She wasn’t sure if she regretted it or not, in the end. Every day she keeps saying she goes to babysit Anthony next door when in reality, she kept Anthony close and helps Mister Jones bottle Moonshine made in the man’s bath. His wife was aware of it, apparently, and she wasn’t approving but knew they needed to pay the bills somehow. And well, selling illegal alcohol was the quickest and most efficient way to do it. By the end of the week, they had a good amount of bottles stored under the sink in the Jones’ apartment.

A month in, Carrie had found out about it. Apparently, she reeked of alcohol, and while the rest of the family didn’t want to confront her about it, her older sister was concerned. She thought she was losing herself in alcohol the Jones owned while taking care of Anthony, which… she didn’t. Truly, she didn’t do that. Sure, she could help to bottle and sell Moonshine, but she wasn’t the one to drink while underage.

When she told Carrie what she really did, the woman looked disapproving but hooked her up with an underground bar to sell it in. As it turns out, Catherine hadn’t been the only one to hold secrets.

She nearly got caught a few times, doing this, and she was just happy that she gave the name Chica when selling what she made with Mister Jones.

And finally, in 1923, she could finally stop. She had found a real job, in a newspaper company, as a delivery girl.

A good thing, too, seeing the bar had been found out that night and Mister Jones got caught during the transaction. She didn’t know how lucky she had been that day, coming home with a job in her back pocket.

\---------------------

“Chica, ya okay?” Foxy’s voice snapped her out of her memories, and she looked over to see the man looking at her with concern despite everything that happened to him the day before. They were now in the same boat, she supposed. She was just glad he didn’t mention the underground bar Bon Bon had talked about during the show. At least, they didn’t mention she made Moonshine. Only frequented the place.

It still wasn’t one of the proudest moments in her life. Oh, she hoped she wouldn’t be yelled at by both Carrie and her father once back home.

“I will be, darlin’,” She replied, after clearing her throat. She took a new letter and opened it, ignoring the concerned stare Foxy was giving her. She looked up and then sighed. “Come on, we gotta see if ya received that letter from that Annie girl,”

They got back to work.


	5. Day Five: Bonnie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of this one lads!!
> 
> There are mentions of violence towards the end, and the Queer slur is used, so you guys are careful reading!

Chica was waiting outside of her apartment building when Bonnie arrived. The building was still in terrible condition and you could see children go up and down the stairs inside from the fancy glass door they installed recently, but despite the good amount of money the blonde woman made, she still refused to move out and into an apartment of her own to take care of her father.

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” Chica said in relief, before starting to take the familiar road towards the building of the company. The woman may be short, but she walked at a crazy fast pace that even Bonnie had slight trouble keeping up with. “The police have been roaming outside all night!”

“It’s no problem at all,” He replied and took a step closer when they passed one of the officers patrolling. They shot them a dirty look, but they both ignored it. “How did your family take yesterday’s news show?”

“Could have been better,” She groaned and tilted her head back dramatically, taking in the clear blue sky that morning. It seems the rain finally is calming down a bit. She’d take it if it meant not coming back soaked back home. “Carrie came home pregnant an’ all, when she should be restin’, and yelled at me for not bein’ more careful. She’s the one that showed me the damn place!

“Then Dad just gave the silent disappointed look he gave me an’ George when we skipped our tasks, and George just stood there smirking as I lived through consequences!” She finally said, taking a deep breath at the end.

“Sounds like one hell of a night,” He replied, amusement clear in his tone. He had lived through a disappointed look of her father when he broke one of their vases when he visited one Christmas. It was… it felt like a disappointment. Once they reached the building, Bonnie opened the door for her to get in and they slowly walked towards the Delivery Room. “I would’ve sent Foxy to come to get you on his delivery run, but..”

“Yeah, I know.” The woman replied, before entering. Bonnie followed in if only to see the number of letters Foxy was still opening. Foxy barely went out, mainly out of fear of what the police would do if they saw him alone in the streets. It could end up badly, and both Chica and Bonnie knew it. The blonde dumped her bag in her cubicle and got out her delivery one before going out again.

Bonnie sat in front of Foxy, listening to the music playing loudly from the nearby radio. The red-headed man greeted him quietly before going back to opening letters, taking a quick look at them and quickly dumping them in the trash.

“You know, she might be married now,” Bonnie said slowly to see Foxy’s reaction who just sighed and put the letter back down. The brown-haired man slowly took it away and dumped it in the trash immediately, not wanting to see what insults graced the paper.

“I know.” The man replied, before dragging his long sleeves on top of his hands and holding them there tightly. The accent was once again gone. “Just paranoia, I suppose.”

Bonnie was about to reply when the radio show began. He was the victim this time around, and he really did not look forward to seeing what was brought out about him.

\---------------------

Bonnie couldn’t remember not living with his sister. His older memories are all from when he was five, six years old and his sister was always in it along with her husband. Before then, it was all blurry and he didn’t remember any details. His sister and her husband acted as the parents he couldn’t remember, and that was enough for him.

She woke him up in the morning, she picked out his outfit for the day, fed him, and brought him to school. The one thing he noticed, however, was the fact that those outfits were always dresses. Which was odd to him, because he was a boy, wasn’t he? So why was he given dresses? They made him all uncomfortable, and when he tried to go on the boys’ side at school, he was always reprimanded and told to go with the girls. He admitted he looked a lot like one, but it was with the boys that he wanted to go.

After all, that’s what he was. But he quickly learned that it wasn’t what they wanted, and if he didn’t start acting like a little girl, he would be in more trouble than he was in right now. People at school looked at him weirdly, and he didn’t want to be looked at weirdly. He wanted to fit in, truly he did, but he simply wasn’t. So, he changed the way he acted. He pretended to get excited over hairstyles and dresses with the girls when really he wanted to get excited over sports with the boys.

As he grew up, it got harder and harder to do. He finally began to fit in, for once, but it felt terrible to do. He pretended to be something he wasn’t and he hated it. By the time he was ten, sometimes he just broke down in his room and cried silently in his room when he saw another dress stretched on the bed. He still acted as if nothing was wrong, though, when he went down to eat breakfast at the table with his new baby niece.

By the time he was twelve, and that his chest started to grow in a way he didn’t want it to and felt foreign, tears stung his eyes every time he looked into a mirror. The hair was too long, his chest not flat like the other boys. Why didn’t he look like them? Wasn’t it how he was born? Was he born wrong? So why did no one tell him?

The day his sister bought him the piece of clothing he would need to put onto his chest, the day he started bleeding every month, he broke down completely in the middle of the living room with the box on his knees. He cried hysterically, barely able to answer the questions he was asked by his sister and her husband. They kept reassuring him with the name that wasn’t his, they kept trying to tell him to be a strong little girl, when the only thing it did was make him cry harder.

When he finally calmed down, he remembers saying in his little pitched voice: “Stop calling me Brianna. That’s not my name.”

“What do you want to be called, then,” His sister murmured, rubbing his back slowly.

“Benedict.”

\---

The Christmas tree was shining brightly in the living room, snow falling thickly outside of the glass. Children stopped at the doors of the various houses of the neighborhood and sing carols in their small voices, sometimes singing entirely out of key, but everyone acting as if they enjoyed it to not crush the spirit of Christmas. Nobody would hurt a child’s fun on Christmas night, after all.

Benedict was sitting in front of the tree in the little suit he had received as an early present, a huge smile on his face as he took care of his now three years old niece. The little girl’s brown hair was a mess already, obviously taking after her own father. Bonnie’s side of the family had less trouble taming their hair. The little girl wasn’t even looking at the present, instead deciding to tug at her uncle’s hair, that was cut as short as the school would allow for a ‘little girl’. He didn’t mind, though. He hadn’t broken down in front of a mirror in months since he was allowed to wear big boy clothing when home.

“Alright, who’s ready for presents?” Naomi announced, entering the small living room to find her daughter tugging on her brother’s hair. She smiled in amusement and approached Benedict to take her daughter out of his arms. She quickly fixed his hair and went to sit on the couch.

“We’re not waiting for Wallace?” He asked but still looked at the small pile of presents under the tree in excitement before looking back at his sister who was looking at him with a knowing smile on her face. He really wanted to open them, but he learned to be patient.

“One won’t hurt,” She told him with a wink, causing him to snicker quietly. She then pointed to one of the shiny golden boxes under the tree. It was one of the smallest, but he didn’t let it affect him. “That one is from me.”

“Isn’t everything from you?” He asked jokingly, and it earned him a small laugh from her. He grabbed the shiny box and ripped off the shiny paper causing it to cover the ground in tiny tatters that will be a pain to clean off later. Opening the box, he stared in confusion at what was inside the box. He lifted it, showing off a dull gray vest looking-thing. “What is that?”

“That, is a vest.” She began, and it earned her a small glare from him. She still smirked and pulled a tongue at him, despite the fact that she was obviously the oldest one between the two. “It’s inspired by the undergarment 13th century Frenchmen would wear. I padded it in strategic places so that it would hide your breasts as much as possible and make it seem as if you had a flat chest. It’s the best I could do.”

“I love it,” He murmured after the explanation, holding the vest close to his heart. He soon went to tackle hug his sister, who only laughed at the obvious happiness he was showing. “Thank you,”

“Only the best for the best of boys,” She whispered, hugging him back tightly.

\---

Thankfully, nobody questioned the vest when he was at school. He always had a fairly flat chest, so if it was flatter than normal or not, nobody really noticed. The uniform skirt still bothered him to no end, but having the extra garment under his shirt, it made school days more bearable. When people saw the garment, he only said it was something new his sister was trying out on the sewing machine and he was the ‘unlucky’ one to try it. They didn’t ask any more questions, and he was more than grateful for it.

By the time he was fifteen, another crisis dawned on him. Someone new had arrived at school that day, a pretty boy with blue eyes and pretty dirty blond hair. All the girls fawned when he passed by them, and much to his horror, he realized he was fawning over him too. While nobody saw a problem with it considering his appearance, Benedict started panicking internally. He was a boy, right? So why didn’t he like girls like all the other boys? Surely there was a problem? Did that mean he wasn’t a boy?

When he came home that night, panicking, his sister hadn’t been there. She had gone to the fabric store with her daughter and the only person home at the time had been Wallace, who was busy trying to prepare that night’s soup. He tried to hide it from the man as much as possible, but he forgot how perceptive his sister’s husband was. Wallace had made him sit at the table and calmed him down to the best of his abilities, before asking what was wrong.

Benedict told him everything, and with a small smile, Wallace told Bonnie about his older sister. A tall woman who took no shit from anyone, and who loved her wife from Hell and back. While they hadn’t been able to marry because of the law, he told him, it didn’t stop them from having an unofficial ceremony in their living room.

When Naomi came back home that night, he found her little brother ranting about the new pretty boy to her husband as they cut vegetables for the soup.

Benedict has been very lucky in his life, that much he knew. His sister had never asked questions, her husband listened to his talks about the pretty boys at school without even blinking, and his niece was simply the best niece he could have asked for. He had a supportive family when some others simply didn’t.

\---

As Bonnie walked down the halls of the school hoping to make his way back home for dinner, he hadn’t exactly expected to hear screaming coming from the girls’ locker room. The screams sounded like girls, so while he first thought it was simply someone pulling a prank on them, that quickly changed when multiple boys laughing followed.

Whatever was happening in there, it was bad.

Without thinking, he charged in through the doors of the girls’ locker room, and his vision tunneled at the sight of two girls holding each other as the boys attacked them, laughing. Their faces were bloodied and tears rolled down their cheeks. It was the worst sight he had ever seen.

“Hey!” He screamed without thinking, his voice echoing around the mostly empty room. The boys stopped and turned towards him, who was standing there in his uniform skirt and his fists clenched tightly in silent fury. Well, mostly silent. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Come on, sweetheart,” The one nearest him replied, approaching him with a charming smirk. The only thing it did was twist the guy’s face in a cruel expression. He leaned in uncomfortably close to Bonnie’s face and continued speaking without a care in the world. “We’re just teaching a lesson to two queers. Nothing bad, of course. Turn around and walk out of here, and I might just take you out on a date as a reward--”

Bonnie didn’t even let him finish his sentence as he punched him across the face just like Wallace taught him to do in case he was threatened. While he didn’t exactly do it in self-defense as he was told, he didn’t really care. It was in defense of others. No matter that he ended up being beaten up instead, he was just glad he spared the girls more pain. He would take it if it meant the others would be fine in the end.

When the gang of boys finally left after ‘teaching him a lesson’ and spitting in his face, he groaned as the two girls that were there helped him up. His ribs ached and his face felt puffy from the punches, but it was worth it as he watched the two girls that were less hurt than him.

“You two are okay?” He asked, his voice croaking. Goddamn it, it hurt moving his jaw. He still toughed it out as his arms were put around their respective necks to help him walk. “They didn’t hurt you after me?”

“N-No, we’re fine…” The one on his left, a curly-haired girl with amber eyes. She looked both worried and confused as she helped him walk. “But why did you help me and my friend? You heard what they called us..”

“N-Not that we’re not grateful!” The one on his right hurriedly added, looking at the other girl with both worry and love in her eyes. They had obviously been caught doing something two lovers would do if the look they gave each other was anything to go by. “Just… Why?”

“Queers help Queers, right?” He chuckled, trying to not let the blood on his face drop on the floor. The two girls looked surprised at that moment, and it just caused him to smile despite the pain it caused. “My name’s Benedict. Come on, let’s go to my home. My sister won’t mind adding two plates to the table.”

\---

Needless to say, that stunt he had pulled helping the two girls had heard him a lot of concerned screaming from his sister as she helped him treat the wounds on his face. He forgot how much of a nightmare she could be when she was concerned, but it still didn’t stop him from feeling proud of what he had done. His sister helped him changed into one of his more casual suits and helped him down the stairs and to the table that night, where the two cleaned up girls were chattering and cooing over his niece and new nephew.

Benedict knew how much his sister wished that it would be a one-time thing, but for the rest of his education years, he came home bloodied from defending himself or others. Sometimes, when it wasn’t at school, it was in alleys as he defended some poor kid stuck between two brutes. He knew his reputation as someone with anger issues as the defeated assholes described how he helped those that attacked them when it clearly wasn’t the truth, but it didn’t bother him all that much, really.

Though, as he got older, as he slowly learned how to write more professionally, he stopped defending with his fists and learned to defend with his words instead. Much to his sister’s relief. The poor woman must have a few gray hairs from worrying about if he would come home bloodied or not.

\---------------------

“Well, they made it sound as if I was a gay man with anger issues,” He said in slight amusement, trying to hide how worried he was about the fact that he would probably receive letters as Foxy did now. His sister would probably express her worry when he went to dinner that night. He wondered if he could skip it that night and simply eat at home… though, Naomi would probably burst into his home if he didn’t. Damn it.

“Ya are okay?” The red-headed man on the other side asked him worriedly. He was clearly worried since they were both in the same boat, now.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. My sister will probably go Mother Hen mode, but I’ll live through it.” He commented with a shrug. Though… was it just him or did the voice sound different today? “Did the host change?”

“Maybe poor Beck was sick,” Foxy commented sarcastically, before going back to his pile of letters. “We do hope she’ll heal, we’ll miss her voice calling out our secrets on public radio.”

Bonnie snorted at that.


End file.
